


Riders On The Storm

by Clarice Chiara Sorcha (claricechiarasorcha)



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest, Threesome, humanoid!mjolnir, the hammer ships it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:16:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claricechiarasorcha/pseuds/Clarice%20Chiara%20Sorcha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“<i>I</i> choose who touches me. <i>I</i> allow only those worthy to lift me.” Hands rested light upon her breasts, then traced slow to the curve of her hips. Her smile could have lain waste to worlds. “But make yourself over into my desire, and I will be your slave.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riders On The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> In which Clarice decides that yes, she totally did need to write a story about Mjolnir in humanoid form totally getting what she wants. Think of it as a Christmas gift. If you want it. <3

The door slammed hard enough against the interior wall to bounce back; it stilled only when a boot thrust out, forcing it to remain open. “Brother.” Thunder rumbled in the far distance, the endearment designed to incite blood rather than invoke it. “There is a problem.”

“Yes, and it has much to do with the fact you are standing in my chambers and I do not wish your presence.” Refusing to look up, Loki dampened a finger, flicked a fresh page. “Go away.”

Five long strides and Thor had crossed the room from doorway to desk, unseen lightning flashing with every step. Loki had quick enough instincts, but then he did not expect his brother to heft him up out of the chair and slam him against the wall.

“It is _not_ funny.” The growl rumbled with thunderous fury; squirming, the toes of his boots barely scraping the floor, Loki opened his eyes wide and allowed his voice to rise in tone just a little.

“Of course it isn’t. Whatever _it_ is. Now let me down.”

Fingers dug deep into the muscle of his upper arms even through the tooled leather, and Thor shook him with all the forethought of a youngling with a ragdoll. A hiss escaped as Loki’s head cracked against the wall, but even when Thor ceased his lips were pressed into a thin line that promised more idiocy yet to come. Loki scowled, noting they were close enough together that a kick to the shins or a knee to the groin wouldn’t have enough force to really make much of an impression on Thor, who had been known since childhood to court battles with those well beyond his range just to find a challenge.

Now he let the irritation he’d felt since Thor’s arrival show upon his face with a dire scowl, hands rising to grasp his brother’s collar as if he had a mind to strangle him with it. “Are you deaf as well as dumb?” he demanded. “I said, _put me down_.”

The shake that preceded his words this time held enough force to rattle loose a few teeth. “Not until you promise to fix this!”

With an exasperated hum, Loki clenched his fingers to his palms; the motion loosed learned restraints, summoning the seiðr that would allow him to stun his idiot brother into both letting him go, and thinking twice about trying to manhandle him again. Yet the voice from the doorway, languid and amused, dissipated the spell to nothingness before Loki had even whispered the beginnings of the incantation in his mind.

“Now _really_ , Thor, I asked you to fetch your brother, not begin the festivities without me.”

His feet hit the ground with a thump, though Loki did not stumble or scrabble for balance; for all Thor had let him down, one hand still remained strong about his upper arm. Jerking it free, Loki passed his hand back through his disordered hair and tilted his head so he might look down his nose at the stranger.

“And who, pray tell, are _you_?”

“You should know!”

But it was not Thor’s fury that had Loki drawing a sudden gasp, finding precious little in even that fresh air with which to breathe. He took half a step forward, then stopped, dizzied by impossibility – and yet it called him always onward, moth dragged to consuming flame. The aura bleeding into the air around her burned like the event horizon of a dead star, inviting one to fall forever and never find the end and yet love the journey all the more for it. Static raised the hairs on his arms, the back of his neck. It ought to have been impossible.

“ _Mjölnir_.”

The whisper made her smile. She could never be called a tall woman; in fact she would barely reach the shoulder of either of them. Nothing about her was strictly slender either. Rather, her body rose and fell in voluptuous curve from shoulder to breast to hip to strong muscle of thigh and calf. The high arch of her eyebrows matched the pale fall of the long hair that cascaded over her shoulders. In the light, Loki would have named it silver; in shadow, it was the harsh grey war-promise of pure uru.

But her eyes were those of the storm. Flashing quicksilver, molten and heavy, they were nothing but knowing chaos. The weight of her shifted light upon her feet, but he knew no pretence at prediction might ever tame such power. It could turn on even the most experienced of players in but a moment.

“Oh, yes, play your surprise, brother.” Sour, Thor folded his arms over his chest, the muscle of his arm glinting in the low light of Loki’s chambers. “I will admit she is a fine specimen indeed, but the novelty of such a prank wore off long ago. Cease this mischief, and tell me what you have done with my hammer.”

Speaking through the numbness of lips that seemed hardly his own, Loki did not look away from the knowing smirk of the creature before them. “None but you may move her,” he whispered, flat, and the silver-uru hair shook as she laughed, eyes flickering with blue plasma.

“Though I might move myself, have I the wish to,” she observed, and only with great power of will could Loki drag his gaze from her. Even when he turned to his brother Loki felt her burn still, a siren-song dragging him close and safe and drowned to her breast where beat eternity instead of a life-locked heart.

“Thor.” For an idiot moment he wanted nothing more than to laugh, hysterical and hateful. Trust Thor to not believe in the one thing that could only and always be his alone. “Open your eyes, you fool – she is _Mjölnir_. She is _yours_.”

Beneath the iron of forced conviction, uncertainty trembled like a child left alone to darkness. “This is no time for lies.”

Loki’s palm itched to slap that beloved face, as if by such action he might strip from the mind within all unwitting stupidity and disbelief. “But you already know the truth for yourself.” Now he laughed, the sound as chilling as any high winter wind. “You can feel it! _That’s_ why you are so angry. It’s the fear – the fear that she is beyond your control. That you are unworthy of the gifts given you even if you do not deserve them at all!”

With a roar Thor threw himself upon him; hands fisted in his tunic, but Loki had no intention of making anything easy. Drawing up a knee, he caught Thor in the solar plexus before his brother’s greater weight could grind him to the floor; catching the momentum of the aborted movement he thrust sideways, ripped himself free, rolled to his feet. With ears ringing still with Thor’s warcry, his hand burned, aflame with seiðr shifting between gold and green. His eyes narrowed, fingers of the other hand already curling about the knife slipped into his boot.

And Thor passed the back of his hand over his split lip, tasting the blood with an incredulous look, as if he’d quite forgotten the taste of it. When he glanced up, his eyes burned with blue flame. “No,” he growled, and the laughter that rocked the air came from neither throat, but rather the third who stood ever between them.

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Mjölnir breathed, and her laughter crackled like static. “And do calm down, master mine. This is not quite how I would begin our evening.”

Thor subsided. But Loki knew him well enough to be able to scent the storm that roiled just beneath his skin as his brother turned to Mjölnir. There seemed something almost pitiful about the way he stared down at her, hands hovering just an inch above the leather than encased her shoulders, eyes wide and disbelieving, a child unsure of his perhaps-broken toy.

“It cannot be.”

She rose to the tips of her boots, leather creaking and whispering like wizened laughter. A hand chucked his chin, callused fingers rasping over the stubble of his beard. “Oh, but it is,” she soothed, and then she pouted, something nearly girlish in the tilt of her words. “But look at you – are you not the slightest bit happy to see me?”

“ _You_ cannot be.” Rasping now, Thor let trembling hands rest upon her: leaning forward, bending from the waist, meeting her eyes with his own. With a soft shake of her head, she lay her open palm upon his cheek, a queen to her most loyal of knights.

“I will not leave you.” The movement of her lips whispered against his ear, but Loki could hear every word as if they’d been given to him instead. “How could I, when I am always and ever yours?”

Low jealousy squirmed in the pit of his abdomen, writhing like a bed of twisted tangled serpents. Still he smiled. Loki had always known how to paint his masks to perfection. “Well, now that your problem is solved, I shall leave you to your lady.”

His chambers or no, Loki turned upon a heel, eyes fixed upon the yet-open door. A hand closed about his wrist, fingers too short to be that of his elder brother. He’d have known the difference simply from the jolt of it, a sharp electrification that set every nerve alight. Gasping, he looked back only to find all breath stolen by the silver-blue kaleidoscope in her eyes, a build-up of roiling stormhead on the very verge of rupture.

“I sent him to you for a reason, my dear Loki,” she whispered. The returned smile felt skeletal, false, dry skin stretched and torn over dead bone.

“And now you can take him back.”

Fingers wound into the dark hair at the nape of his neck, drew him down, drew him close. Stiffly he followed the unspoken command, but follow he did. Despite the difference in their heights, Mjölnir radiated a power that Loki might never possess himself. He would be a formidable seiðmaðr one day, perhaps more than even his mother for all her own talent – but in whatever form she chose to hold, Mjölnir could be nothing but the purest of elementals. The heart of a dying star made flesh, her origins shone through in the golden burnish of her skin, the plasma of her eyes, the lightning of her trailing touch.

“I sent him to you for a reason.” Stepping back, the light curve of her spoke of the trajectory of a star careening across the sky. One hand extended to Thor, and even in that Loki could sense the strength of her: compacted beauty, an edge that wound about the entire universe, an illusory mass wrought in such small form.

 Thor wrapped both his hands about hers as if taking hold of a lifeline; when he stared down her it was if she had lit up all the worlds and he wished for nothing more to burn with them, to be consumed only and always for her. That twist of agonised envy hit him hard again, making Loki wish to double over even as it rose to his throat so he might choke on it. But her other hand had opened to him, the line of her smile as endless as the edge of the universe.

“Take my hand.”

His spine held his head high, his heart an aching ruin. “Only those who are worthy of her may heft the hammer Mjölnir.”

“And who but Mjölnir herself might know the ones deserving of such worthiness?”

Loki had always known the power of a lie that held the deepest desire of truth. Mirroring Thor’s own actions, Loki closed the offered hand between both of his own. The heat of her should have burned them all to stardust and nothingness – but he could see nothing but her smile and knew he lived, even as she drew them backwards into her orbit. Yet it was his own bedchamber that she brought them to, door latching and locking behind them without so much as a hand upon its weight.

“Now,” she said, light and lilting, “what _shall_ I do, I who have both brothers, the two princes of Asgard, under her spell?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Loki held his tremors to himself, took one step back into the shadows of his own bedchamber. “I believe he is the one under your spell, the great oaf.”

Following his nod, Mjölnir turned her head to Thor. Indeed his brother stood there transfixed, the coiled strength of him like the crackle of compressed charge against the glass of a lightning-jar. Loki had seen him thus a thousand times or more: a warrior waiting for the command that would thrust him into battle. Yet Mjölnir only seemed amused when she looked back to him, eyebrow arched high. “And so what are you, then?”

“Curious.”

Her laughter rolled like thunder, reflecting from every surface to shiver under his skin, burrowing deep into muscle and nerve. “Ah, my curious lovely little Loki!” With another chortle she slipped closer yet, bit her lip in sly amusement as she looked up into his still face. “That is how this came to pass – do you realise this?”

He might have felt a chill, if not for the radiating intensity of her banishing all sensation but that of heat and sunlight. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I have power of my own.” The small fingers tripped light over the criss-crossed leather of his tunic, came to stop over his heart; its rhythm skipped a beat, took on a new one entire when she said, light, “But it was _you_ who taught me how to use it this way.”

Stirring to life again, Thor’s voice rang with clear irritation. “What do you mean?”

“He sneaks into your chambers, upon occasion.” Even as Thor’s eyes widened, Mjölnir took half a step away Loki. One hand rose from rib up and over breast, coming to rest upon the place where her collarbones dipped to the low apex of her throat. “Oh, and when he does…he runs his fingers so sweet over my haft, traces the runes of my inscription, trips over my edges and faces six…”

Thor rounded on him with eyes flashing wildfire, demanding weregild, promising blood and broken bone. “ _Loki_.”

Only common sense had him taking a step back, fingers itching for the blade secreted just above his left hip. “I—”

But it was Mjölnir’s hand upon his forearm that held Thor back. “Do not be so angry, master,” she sighed, voice trembling upon the very edge of fall. “I do _enjoy_ it so.” Her laughter mingled with the low brontide of his continued fury, and her opened eyes were indolent, dreaming. “And he has been these days working _so_ hard with your mother on transmutation. The seiðr of it clings to him like stardust. I could not help but catch a taste of it for myself.”

“…and so you took this form.”

The flat words only seemed to amuse her further. “And so I took this form,” she repeated, just the wrong side of mocking. When she leaned closer to Loki yet, the flexing muscle of her arm glinted with silver despite the burnt gold of her colouring. “And then I came to you both.”

“What is it that you desire?”

Again that made her laugh. Arching backward, she gave a little shrug. “Oh, it would be _you_ to ask first. My dearest Loki.” Her generous lips curled into a new smile entire, one with a promise that held its deepest power in its sharp fervour. “Allow me to show you.”

The small, swift hands came together at the lacing of her skirted tunic: an old form, one seen in tapestries of the great stories of yore, of blood and gore and glory and war. It gaped open over bare skin when she leaned down, loosened her boots, kicked them aside. Then she shimmied from the tunic, leaving her bare beneath.

Not even his swift indrawn breath could give Loki’s mind power enough for coherent thought. The beauty of her struck him with the force of a blazing meteor: the swell of breast, the curve of hip and belly, the silver hair nestled between the broad muscle of her thighs. When she stepped forward, the motion of her burned with power and promise and a passion he had only ever but dreamed of, alone in his brother’s chambers with fingers pressed so light to the central focus of his divine strength.

And she smiled like a sun gone supernova. “I would have you both.”

Loki came over first cold, and then very very hot. Yet even as he all but drowned in a fire of ice and nebular heat, Thor’s eyes darkened, pupils blown wide and demanding. A hand reached forward but she ducked backward with a laugh all smoke and static.

“Ah, but now I am at a disadvantage.” With the tip of her tongue tracing the line of first teeth, and then dampened lip, she smirked. “Take off all your clothes.”

“I—”

“ _I_ choose who touches me. _I_ allow only those worthy to lift me.” Hands rested light upon her breasts, then traced slow to the curve of her hips. Her smile could have lain waste to worlds. “But make yourself over into my desire, and I will be your slave.”

No more command did Thor’s hands need; Loki himself could not lift his attention from the surety of their motion over lace and buckle. Boots, trousers, tunic; a fine mess he made of stripping himself bare. And then Thor stretched to full height, muscles aflex, chin proudly high. Loki had seen his brother in such state often enough that the sight of his nude body could no be surprise; they’d spent a lifetime together in the communal baths, or training stripped to loincloth and sandals, or sharing their own bathing chamber. But Loki had never seen his cock so, half-stiff and rising fast, darkening with blood, his chest beginning a quick heave while his eyes shone like strange stars.

“And so you have your desire, my lady.” Desire radiated from him with the scent of fierce summer fires, caught upon a spark, waiting to burn all to ruin. “And now I would have mine.”

She raised one finger, sly and knowing. “Oh, I only have half of what I want.” When she turned, her hair all but floated upon the air, filamented and humming with the power coiled inside her borrowed form. “My lovely Loki. Why do you make me wait for you?”

He could turn. He could walk away. These were his own rooms, but even now he could take his leave and abandon both brother and weapon to this foolish farce. But the silver, the storm – both arrested him in the gravitation of her knowing gaze. It had been that which had called to him again and again, leading him to creep into Thor’s chambers through their shared bath chambers. So many times had he slipped his fingertips beneath the leather wrapped about her handle, pressing first skin and then lips to the cool uru of her head. Always it had burned him: the cursed inscription that meant he might never lift her, might never feel that striking power for himself.

His own disrobing came more slowly: each piece of clothing properly folded, set aside where it belonged. Only at its end did Loki raise his face, meeting her gaze with steady challenge. Her eyes hooded, flicking down to where his cock had begun to make its interest known.

“Very good.” She stepped close, thoughtful. Then she sidestepped just as Thor reached for her, the air rippling with the charge of low laughter. “Ah, no, not until I say! Stay where you are.”

With the ease of a current chasing the path of least resistance, Mjölnir moved onto Loki’s bed; upon hands and knees, the motion of her ass teased as much as the inward curve of her back. The heat in Loki’s groin roiled, a chain reaction pushing to criticality and beyond. Then she went back upon her heels, mouth curved at one corner, eyes alight with a mischief that Loki abruptly wished he could just drink from her lips until he drowned of it.

“Kiss.”

The world tilted sideways, the taste of rain and bitter snow in his mouth. Thor’s brow only furrowed. “What?”

“Kiss your brother.” Impatience coloured her words with the blackening of a sky calling out the rains, though mirth gave her words sharp silver gleam. “It is what I want.”

“No.”

“Oh, my precious Loki!” But for all the merriment in each word, her eyes shimmered with the harsh cold silver of a winter hurricane. “Do not try my patience.”

Meeting those eyes with the cool learned grace of a prince born to have his influence in shadow and in whisper, Loki shook his head. Inside, his soul screamed at the denial, and he did not even know what it wanted more. “I will not allow it.”

“He is right.” Thor’s great arms had folded over his chest, expression clouded for all his cock twitched still with roused blood and heat. “We might share a woman, but—”

“I am no woman.” The words shook the room, her eyes storm-shower grey, the echo a promise of destruction rained down upon the realm. “And neither of you will share in anything if you do not share in this.”

Loki flicked his eyes sideways, found Thor glaring at him. He knew the precise second the thought solidified.

“Don’t you dare.”

The grin stretched over Thor’s features was that of the berserker in him, as bold and brilliant and insane as it always had been. “I want her.”

“But you don’t want _me_.”

“That is not our concern now.” One hand rested upon his neck, that old gesture of familiarity between them. Loki stiffened, though only a moment – but it was a moment too long, for it gave Thor all the opening he needed to bend forward from the waist, dragging at Loki until he had pressed their mouths together.

It shuddered through him, dry and close-lipped. And then he was swaying backwards, hand cast out for support from the bedpost. Thor made no motion to assist, hands on hips with his eyes fixed upon the reclined figure upon the bed. Mjölnir only smirked, legs crossed at the ankle. Thor nodded, the very picture of nonchalance save for the high colour burning oddly in his cheeks.

“Now let me show you how I would kiss you.”

She waved him back with one hand, eyes rolled to the heavens. “After that wretched display? I should think not.” Tossing her head, the silvered hair moved about her like plasma storm. “Do try again, Thunderer. As it stands at this moment I would not let you kiss me if I were but a toad.”

Fury rose in his brother with the untempered force of magma rushing towards its caldera; Thor turned, and then it was focused only upon his brother. Loki took a step back without intending any retreat by the movement. Instead he held his hands low, body taut, rising ever so slightly upon the balls of his feet.

“This is your game, and I have no interest in playing,” he warned, fingertips ringed with the radiance of seiðr. Thor raised an eyebrow.

“And here I thought you liked games.”

“He does.” Loki’s own fury warred with frustration when he chanced a glance over to her; there he found only a coy smile, an upward tilt of hips, the shimmer of light upon the hair betwixt her thighs. “But you have to learn to play them on his terms, master mine,” Mjölnir added with a soft sigh, and his own words came out rough and raw against the burning skin of his throat.

“Hold your tongue.”

The demand only shivered through her like a press of lips to skin. “Oh, but why won’t you use yours?” Hooded, her eyes invited him close even as they drove him away. “It’s better for more than just your silver-bright words, and we all know it to be true.”

Thor moved uneasily, shifting his great bulk from one foot to the other, hands clenched to fists at his sides. Loki’s throat tightened further, then refused all air when he noticed that small fingers had moved to trace lazy circles about the dark aurorae of her nipples. The scent of her maddened him, so close to a taste he had only ever stolen from cold hard uru.

“You _want_ this.” The murmur slithered over his skin, dipped beneath, carved bleeding trails in its wake. “And I can give it to you. Just this once.”

“…just this once.”

The croaked answer made her smile, both pitying and pleased. “Oh, yes.” Mjölnir shifted upon the furs of his bed, legs parting, light glinting against slickening skin. “Only this one time.”

When Loki turned to his brother, he almost changed his mind. Something uncertain had entered those eyes, flickering so very near to fearful that Loki’s resolve wavered like a candle lit against the demands of a summoned tempest. And then his hands closed about Thor’s face, demanding the kiss he forced upon him in return. Said silver tongue pressed between startled lips, forcing free an _umph!_ of surprise.

_Fool, why do you not take it? What we want. What we both want. What we_ all _want._

Then Thor’s hands rose and dug deep into his skin, seeking anchor and dragging through skin and hair. The clash of teeth and tongue and nose at first made of them little more than a tangled ruin. But then they had fought back to back. They could find a rhythm. While this action provided an entirely new range of motion to predict and match, they had always both been quick studies, and quicker allies.

Thor drew back first, breathing hard. Loki did not bother to meet his eyes, heart in his throat even as he turned to Mjölnir. His cock twitched to see her hand moving downward.

“A nice effort, but a kiss is more than lips.” Two fingers slipped into the hair at the apex of her thighs, and she moaned low and long as they slid deeply unseen between. “Touch him. Draw him close. He is your brother. _Love_ him.”

A line had been crossed and Loki suspected neither of them had even seen her draw it. Meeting Thor’s eyes had all the force of a blade thrust down through his shoulder, skewering his heart, collapsing his lung until he might never have hope of drawing another breath. All Thor gave him was a minute nod. But still the space between them felt too far to breach. To take a step forward now held all the insanity of walking off the edge of the rainbow bridge.

But one hand drifted forward, rested upon a hip while the other remained about the back of his neck. Curling his own about waist, shoulder, Loki swallowed hard. Thor ducked his head as Loki rose forward. This kiss held a slower pace, closer to that of the giant heartbeat of a spreading ash tree. The throaty chuckle behind them rumbled through the floor, rose up through their bodies.

“ _Closer_.”

The hand at his hip slipped down, backward over his buttock, clenched hard. Loki might have squawked if not for the jerk forward, the breathlessness of unexpected motion. Then he lost all thought when he felt their twinned hardness pressed together. With that hand pressing bruises into his skin he could not move back, found only increased friction when he tried. The working of lips, of tongue, did not cease – and he could not help but push into it. A shallow thrust, and Thor grunted into his mouth; Loki curved his lips to cruel smile, bit down until he tasted iron. Both hands now kneaded his ass to the point of pain, and he tightened his own in Thor’s hair until he felt golden strands yank free. Thor dragged him closer, and Loki let him swallow his breathless laughter. He had always so good at playing a role. He would not fail with such a prize at stake.

Panting breaths cut the air like sleet as they drew apart. Nestled amongst the furs, Mjölnir lay lazy and languid upon her back. The fingers between her thighs now thrust with obscene purpose, the slick sound of their movement as rich as the rising scent of arousal, of desire. Thor’s eyes would not move, fixed upon her. His cock had only hardened further. Loki could feel its dampness still against his own skin.

“Ah, much better.” Her hand pulled free of her cunt, fingers glistening as she beckoned them close. “Come to me.”

As in so many aspects of their lives, Loki and Thor chose to approach from opposite sides. Once upon the bed Thor immediately made to rise over her, cock bobbing between the thick muscle of his thighs. She stopped him with a palm pressed just over his heart. Loki watched the pulse in his throat jump and dance as Mjölnir shook her head, pushed him backwards.

“Lie down with me. Both of you.”

The heat of her skin burned, but in the fashion of ice rather than flame. Intrigued, Loki traced his fingers over the curve of first hip and then belly, the sensation akin to the discharge of static. She all but purred, writhing beneath his touch before her fingers closed over his, stilling Loki’s exploration. Rolling her head from one to the other, she demanded in low whisper, “Each place one hand on my breast.”

The heat of her only grew with the hardness of the nipple. Pressing it beneath his palm, Loki made a circling motion, every half-turn a cycle of dip and release. Casting her head back upon a sigh, Mjölnir thrust her chest up, and smirked. “Now, kiss him again.”

Across her body their eyes met. Not a word passed between them; they had moved beyond it now. In silence Loki leaned over as Thor rose to meet the challenge. The taste of him, ash and dust and firestorm, felt to Loki a feast after a lifetime of starvation. When at last he drew back, ropes of saliva connected them still. Mjölnir chuckled, breaking them with lazy fingers even as Loki looked nowhere but to the sparking plasma of his brother’s eyes.

“Very, _very_ good.” Rising up from shoulder to hip, Mjölnir reached over, hooked strong arms about Thor’s neck so she might first kiss him, then draw him down. It could only be so natural, so easy for him to roll onto her, fitting perfectly between her thighs. But then it was how it was to be. Loki found bitter taste of defeat upon his tongue, and of course it held everything of his perfect golden brother.

But then she rolled him over, so easy, as if he weighed nothing at all. Pushing up on her knees, Mjölnir moved to straddle Loki instead, Thor now relegated to her back. With sly grin Mjölnir yanked Loki upward, fitting them together so that her breasts pressed against his chest, his cock hard flesh and want against the swell of her belly. A rocking motion, and she was all gurgling laugh, sensual and soft. And then she was pulling back, rolling her head, mouth opened on a moan that seemed to rise from the heat between her thighs.

“I want you both.”

“So you have said.” The low growl of Thor’s voice was but prelude to the hand that dipped between her thighs. Loki only watched as blunt fingers sought their prey within the glitter of silvered hair, the low whisper of her pleasure striking his skin. His eyes dropped down to the twitch of his dick, the shine of pre-spill trembling upon its head.

“But if you want me,” she whispered, “then Loki shall take you and only then I will have everything that I desire.”

Thor’s hand ceased upon her clit, great form gone very still. “What?”

One hand rose, caught his head, forced him down so she might turn her face; Mjölnir whispered her words against Thor’s lips even as she cast a knowing sideways look to Loki alone. “I will lie on my back for you. I will take your cock into my quim and let you spill yourself into me.” Now she laughed again, dragging her tongue over pale, taut lips. “But only if you raise your ass for your brother, and let him take you as hard as you will take me.”

Eyes wide, Thor drew back. Loki could only sit with Mjölnir’s weight heavy upon his lap, struck with the sudden need to laugh and laugh and laugh until he quite expired of the hilarity of it all. Oh, he always _had_ loved his brother’s hammer a little too much for comfort.

“Make up your mind, oh master mine,” she purred, all indolent unconcern as she tossed her hair over a shoulder, pinched a nipple with clever little fingers. “Either you take me while your brother does you, or it will be the other way around.”

The confusion of him might have had Loki laughing yet, if not for the fact his chest felt to be wrapped in iron bands, giving him not even enough space to breathe. Reaching forward, Mjölnir pressed fallen strands of Thor’s hair behind one ear, insinuating herself so close her next words were more movement than sound.

“On your front, then.”

Though he drew back, Thor’s pupils had dilated to the point where his eyes seemed stripped of all colour but black and white. “I am not certain—”

Fingers pressed to his lips, her own stretched in an amusement that flickered straight to Loki’s groin. “Oh, but I am.”

That certainty had him on his stomach, chin upon his folded hands. Loki could say nothing when the curve of Thor’s ass rose before them, golden and smooth, lightly dusted with hair. The oil in Mjölnir’s hands shimmered in the dim lighting, shadowing the conspiring curve of her smile. She tilted it to Loki alone, the low hum of her merry words buzzing in his mind. “It _does_ so conduct the lightning better.”

Tossing the glass stopper to one side, Mjölnir drizzled a line from one shoulder to the crease of buttock and thigh, and then up again. Setting the vial aside, she allowed one side to each. In an easy matched rhythm they began together a slow working down, the heel of hands driving in, fingers kneading and dragging out across tensed muscles, encouraging them to shiver and relax.

Without thought Loki leaned across, caught her lips with his own. The taste of her could have been the same as drinking lightning down. The rising pulse of her power caressed him from within, unseen fingers trailing over the heat of his cock. Thor shifted below with a low groan; Loki watched wordless the barely discernible thrust of hips against the bed, seeking out the friction of soft fur. When Thor’s head turned to his side his eyes were still closed above a beatific smile.

The thighs proved too thick to wrap his hands around. Loki attempted it all the same, found them hard with muscle, softened with wiry hair. In wordless synchronicity they both trailed one finger up the soft vulnerability of inside skin, chasing over the warmth between. Thor jolted under the touch, and Mjölnir gave a light slap to his bared ass.

“Hush, now,” she murmured, “and give me what I want.”

One finger, callused and thick, dipped first between the hard muscles of buttock, and then deeper inside. Fascinated, Loki leaned forward, traced the reaction of Thor’s body with his eyes: the tightening in his lower back, the sharp indrawn breath, the clenching of fists into furs. With a sly grin he trailed his own fingers over the rise and dip of muscle and skin while she worked ever inwards. The scimitar curve of her smile only sharpened itself upon his own, silver hair hanging over her shoulders, ghosting across her breasts as they shook with light laughter.

Her hand closed about his wrist with the finality of a cuff, but Loki made no protest as she raised it, took two fingers within the heat of her mouth. Beneath them Thor groaned, her other hand cocked at the wrist as she chased down Thor’s pleasure, held it hostage to her whims. And then she was withdrawing Loki’s fingers, taking them down, encouraging his own entrance in the slick body of his elder brother.

The long line of Loki’s index finger followed the curve of hers, pressing in beside. With laughter bubbling up from low in his chest, he wriggled it; his brother grunted, then gasped. His own loosened chuckle was a low throaty sound, the other hand tightening on his cock. While light oil slicked across the summoned heat of his skin it was the molten silver of her eyes that burned the deepest. Leaning across again, Loki lost himself in the storm of Mjölnir’s gifted kiss. Another finger slid inside, numbering now four between them, pressing hard and deep.

“Do you think he is ready?” And her laughter pressed like rainwater to his lips before she pulled away, tongue trailing over her reddened skin.

Loki leaned back upon his heels as Thor levered upwards, Mjölnir crawling up to the dark patterned headboard. The sway of her hips had both mesmerised, the swell all but begging for lips and teeth and tongue. It vanished from view but a second later, her body arching against the headboard. Leaning back against it, her legs fell apart on a sigh, lingering and longing.

Thor scarcely paused to think, but then he never had; he swarmed up the bed in sinuous slide to lower his face between her legs. Thunder rumbled as he tasted deep of her; she laughed, thighs pressed hard to either side of his head. Both hands tangled in his hair, her head lolling forward on a pleasured sigh. Then she drew him up, pressed a kiss to glistening lips. “Very good,” she whispered. “We shall do it again, later. But now, I want your cock.”

Thor had no need to be instructed twice. With a twist of his hand about the thick length, Thor thrust forward, the other braced so hard about the headboard Loki could hear the alarming creak of splintering wood. Mjölnir’s hand had dropped to the space between her thighs, fingers scissored open around her cunt, pressed hard against its flushed lips. As Thor pressed in her head thrust back, her wail loose and long. The long muscles of back and buttock grew taut as she took him to the root, Thor’s every breath a quick pant. Her hands rose, tangled in his hair, drew his head down to rest upon her breast, his whole body trembling. Pressing a kiss to one temple, Mjölnir looked up over Loki. Her features held the cool set of a feline desire.

“Now you.”

Hesitation stilled him for the first time. This could only be something from which there would be no going back. But a hand held out to him, the nails dark as the uru of Mjölnir’s head. The smile, her hooded silver gaze invited no retreat. Courting chaos had been his birthright – or perhaps now chaos courted him. Either way, it was no invitation his feral heart could ever allow him to decline.

Yet first Loki could only press against his brother’s back. The _heat_ of him sizzled along every nerve like revelation; usually Thor’s skin held only the constant warmth of banked embers, but now he had become brightly burning star-heart. For a moment Loki just snaked his hands around the slim waist, cheek pressed to the centre of the broadness of his shoulders. His head rose and fell with the breath drawn into those lungs, Loki’s own heartbeat shifting to match the rhythm of the life that was so utterly and only and ever _Thor_. Closing his eyes, pressed skin to skin, breathing him in, Loki felt for a moment to be nothing more than a child seeking a comfort that had always been so much easier to take then.

Beneath him came a shift, and then a slide, and Loki gasped to feel the press of his cock into the crease of Thor’s ass. “Come, brother,” he rumbled, brontide shivering through his skin with the promise of approaching storm. “The lady awaits.”

Loki’s hand trembled not at all as he traced the fingertips down the count of Thor’s ribs, drawing it back between them. It fluttered teasing and trailing over his skin, slipping through the oil to press light against the pucker of skin that they had so recently had breached. The muscles fluttered, still loose, though tight enough to have his pulse quickening. Leaning close, Loki flicked out his tongue over his earlobe, closed fingers about the root of his own cock.

“Breathe, brother,” he murmured, and Thor’s laughter rumbled through all the room.

“Then be quicker about it, _brother_.”

With a hard shove, Loki sheathed himself very nearly to completeness. The shocked gasp only sparked along his ragged nerves, the involuntary clench of muscle about his cock just an invitation to go deeper yet. Laughter below rose to dance inside his skin, Thor’s face nestled in her neck; Mjölnir arched upwards, licked over Loki’s lips.

“I do love you, Loki,” she whispered, and he could taste ozone upon her tongue. With a jerk of hips forward, Thor half-choked upon a whine. And then her hands moved down, grasped Thor’s waist, pulling him deeper, sliding Loki from his brother’s body. With a growl Loki gave a brutal thrust forward and again she laughed, so high and true, the song of a storm unleashed.

In this push and pull they both worked Thor between their bodies, relentless in their quest to draw from him their pleasure. Sweat glistened upon his skin while Thor jerked his hips towards his own desires, but Loki’s well-timed thrusts would push him out of rhythm in but a moment. The great devious pleasure of it chased him so very close to the edge. And then Thor’s hand curved back, caught Loki rough around his neck. Dragging him forward, Thor crushed them together, all teeth and tongue. Loki retaliated with a hand pushed between them, feeling the heat where his brother’s cock thrust into her, the sensation of blunt fingers lit like sparks upon his skin.

The hard nub of her clit rolled beneath his fingertips; the gasping from her throat was a sound like winds whipped to frenzy. When Loki himself broke for breath, the air tasted of charred snow, impossible and thick. Her coming clenched tight around his brother. Loki in turn felt the passion of it in the roar of distant thunder, and in Thor’s bite. Blood flowed raw between them, the clenching of Thor’s deep muscles inviting Loki’s own spill into the perfect golden body of the firstborn Odinson.

In the long moments after they drew apart, Loki’s softened cock slipping from Thor with a pop, trailed by a sluggish flow of white. But still Loki’s fingers ached for the touch of her. Reaching over the slowing heave of his brother’s chest, Loki plunged into her quim, crooked his finger, then withdrew with a dragging motion that made her shriek anew. Yet his eyes were upon Thor alone as he placed them into his mouth, licked the mixture of them both from his fingers as if he drank it from cock and cunt both. Then he smiled around its withdrawal, licking long from root to tip.

But Thor allowed him not a moment for a mocking word. Hands closed on him, flipped him onto his stomach; already Loki could feel the evidence of his swiftly renewing arousal.

“Now, brother,” he growled, “permit me to show you how this is truly done.”

Squirming, Loki found no purchase, no power. “Get _off_ me, you brute!”

Mjölnir’s hands closed over his wrists. The impossible weight of her permitted no escape, even before she leaned down, captured his lips in her own. Yet Loki gave himself willingly to her, took from her tongue the taste of ozone and rain in return. Then she was pulled aside, the growl of brontide pressed to his lips by a fiercer pair, teeth biting to bloody pain.

“ _Mine_.”

Loki wrenched back, blood splattering across the furs. “I _know_ she’s yours, Norn’s flaming tits!”

“No.” The blue eyes had taken on the silver of lightning, a storm raging across a clear summer sky. “No, you. _You_ are mine.”

“Oh,” and she lay back, spine arched, fingers between her legs. “ _Oh_ , you are learning now, my master.”

Loki would not have thought Thor a worthy student of any lesson worth acquiring, but Mjölnir voiced no objection when those callused fingers, oiled and blunt, swept over Loki’s ass. A moment later and then one thrust into him; the middle finger, longest and deepest. Swearing upon gods who had fallen millenniums ago, Loki scrabbled at the furs for purchase, jerked his hips to one side, received a stinging slap for his troubles.

“And she _enjoyed_ this?” he demanded, scathing; Thor pressed down, his weight heavy and the inward curve of hip and thigh fitting so true to the thrust up mound of his arse.

“I take my women the way they wish it.” The jerk of hips forced his fingers deeper, the heat of his rising cock a brand against Loki’s skin. “I take my brother because he is mine.”

“You keep saying that. What makes you think it is true?”

Thor pulled back, but only so that he could push in another finger, could shove all three together in deeper than ever before. “I only speak the truth. I leave the lies to you.”

“Oh, how I _hate_ the arrogance of you.” Yet Loki’s body betrayed him so easily, relaxing into the rough pleasure of it with a low groan. The thrust and twist called his hips back, drawing Thor deeper; the white-hot flash burned behind his eyes when callused fingertips dragged over that truest of places. A throaty laugh was but the distance rumble of thunder. Loki cocked his head sideways, saw her silver eyes upon him while fingers drove deep into her cunt.

The obscene slow curve of her lips made him grin back, feral and perfect. She knew his brother too well.

The withdrawn hand provided time enough to take Thor off guard. Rolling him over, Loki rested his ass upon his thighs, fingers digging deep into collarbone. Thor arched an eyebrow, their cocks pressing so light together.

“Oh, this is how we play your game, brother?”

The half-curled strands of his loosened hair trailed across his brother’s chest as he bent forward, a thousand small fingers at their task. “Let me tell you my rules.” Moving backward, Loki sought with one hand and so easily found the heat of a willing cock. The head of it pressed hard against the pucker of skin, loosened though it had been by the action of oil and finger. With a lazy grin he bore down, accepted it with first a gasp, and then a hiss of burning sensation at the thickness of it. With a sudden give the worst of it passed, and then he had only the shaft to sink down upon, taking him deep. Twisting, he dragged his balls across Thor’s abdomen, rubbed himself along the heat of the shaft he had speared himself upon.

“So.” He rose, just a little, just enough. “Do you _like_ my game?”

Actions meant more than words, in the vocabulary of such a body. Thor jerked up, unbalancing him; before Loki could fall hands caught him about the waist, pressing bruises into the flush of his skin. “I am unsure,” he growled. “Shall we play a little more?”

“Oh, do let’s.” Lazy and yet far from satiated, Mjölnir writhed upon the bed, a sinuous arch with both hands pressed over her breasts, hips canted into the hips of a lover unseen. The first lash of rain hit harsh against the windows, and her eyes roiled with silver heartbeat. “I so want to see who wins.”

With a slap Loki’s opened palms fell upon the bed upon either side, and then his fingers clenched deep into the furs. Thrusting his head back, Loki gave himself over to the cadence of his own stuttering heartbeat, sliding upon his brother’s cock. Once, twice, three times – and then he was losing count, caught now in the pulse of the storm he could feel prickling over his skin. In this he was breathless, the silent eye of the hurricane, everything twisted and unreal about him. It did not matter. Here it was only him and Thor and Mjölnir – and now Mjölnir prowled across the bed. A low chuckle all but rattled the windows as she raised herself above Thor’s face, glanced down.

“I said we would do this again, yes?”

Even as she lowered herself Thor already craned upwards, tongue eager for the taste of her. The mere sight of it left Loki’s own lips feeling parched, those of a man dying of thirst; he wanted to ride this cock, but then he wished also to taste the cunt that came to rest upon his brother’s lips. With a sigh Mjölnir leaned across, and then her lips were upon his, demanding and desiring and Loki twisted his hips, let her swallow his cry.

One hand grasped his cock; it worked in perfect counterpart to the way he rode Thor’s dick. Clenching hard about its stiffness, he purposefully dragged the fat head of it over that place where it sparked the sharpest pleasure. Mjölnir’s nails scratched over his back with the heat of branding iron, overwriting his skin with her own geas. Her whispers and moans beat against his mind in a language too old to be wasted on the young and yet Loki was wasted _by_ it, torn apart and ruined in the sound of something he could not even speak aloud.

The shriek seemed to come from somewhere beyond her, as if she brought down the whole sky with her coming. Arching like split lightning Mjölnir fell back, pressed her feet hard upon his chest, hands working her breasts as she thrust upward upon a scream. Below, Thor laughed; Loki’s mind twisted, turned upon the image of him: the shine of his beard, filthy with the juices of her quim. Still his hips jerked under Loki’s command, driving deeper what Loki had already claimed as his own. With Mjölnir still writhing above, Thor at last grasped his hips, leaning forward, tongue seeking forward. The sight of it choked Loki, releasing him from the tangle of rising pleasure with a startled shout.

The spill on Thor’s cheeks made a brilliant whiteness against the rich golden hue. Loki, still speared upon his cock, breathed hard and fast and bewildered, but he could not have looked away for the sake of Ragnarök itself as Thor raised two fingers. Their blunt tips traced through the white, dipped into his mouth. He smiled around it, long lashes low over the blue; Loki’s chest rose and fell in sharp staccato, the low muscles of his abdomen twitching as if set upon by fierce lightning storm.

“You are a lovely one,” Thor said in harsh hoarse whisper. With a sudden snarl Loki struck, closed his hand about his throat, gripped hard against the rawness of his stolen breath.

“I am a _man_.”

The rough grip that now closed around his softening cock held the same feral edge as Thor’s grin. “I _had_ noticed.”

The weight of his brother, still buried deep in his ass, pushed him up; the world tilted upon its axis and Loki could only grasp for purchase on those broad shoulders, then raking nails down his back. Thor’s displeasure rumbled through his chest, but then it seemed something more entirely as the force of him drove Loki back down into the bed, teeth closing on his neck in that place his fingers so often pressed. No gentleness remained in him now. Remade into berserker, Thor sucked at the bleeding wound; Mjölnir laughed again, and Loki only groaned, fingers in his hair, his mouth. Thor pounded him ever downward, so he might never rise again.

_I might never want to, if this is how I fall._

His brother’s release came upon him unannounced, with the sound of thunder and rain, the room standing still in a moment of arching lightning. Thor’s voice shook him to the core, the warmth of his spill like some missing heat he’d never known, too cold to ever make it for himself. Loki held him close, sought his lips, chased something already lost until Thor finally groaned, arms giving out, falling upon him.

“Are you two quite finished, then?”

Sweat stung his eyes when he glanced over. Mjölnir reclined upon the bed, one leg crossed over the other, eyebrow arched. Thor’s own laughter was lazy as he at last rolled his weight from his brother, but his fingers pressed hard enough into Loki’s hips to leave a second litany of bruises. “Would you care to join us for another round?”

She gave a studied yawn. “Perhaps in the morning.” Rising, she pressed her lips first to his, and then to Loki’s; her fingers burned. “You boys need your rest.”

“Where are you going?”

Only when she had stepped outside did she turn. The rain ran down her skin in rivulets thickening to rivers wild; the fierce silver of her hair clung to her breasts like quicksilver, her lips curved like blades. “I go to taste my storm.”

A hand tightened on his arm before Loki even realised that he had begun to rise, drawn to her chaos fire. When he looked back, it was to find his brother sprawled in his bed, naked and languid, hair sweat-soaked and eyes dark burnt blue. Mjölnir had gone. The moment had passed. But his cock was hardening, and Thor’s eyes were thunder-light and hail.

“Loki.”

It seemed all too easy: to stretch along the bed, arms raised above his head, legs opened and his lips curved in promise. “ _Thor_.”

A soft breeze ruffled the curtains when he next opened his eyes. The balcony doors stood parted to the new day, the blue skies beyond utterly without cloud; they were hung only with the planets and moons that did not hide their faces even with the brightest daylight. Yet despite the lingering warmth in tumbled sheet and fur, Loki had woken alone.

But Thor had not gone far. When Loki rose he could see his brother, naked upon the balcony. Mjölnir dangled from one hand, silent and strong as her master. Limned in gleaming light, shimmering like heat-struck gold, Thor might have been constructed of a hundred thousand stars pressed into a body that could never hope to cage such divinity long.

“Thor.”

The hoarsening of his voice, broken by laughter and shriek alike, did not have him turning, did not have him looking back.

“Loki.”

A sinking heart dragged him under, chased down into the depths with a siren’s mocking laughter.

_The seiðr of it clings to him like stardust. I could not help but catch a taste of it for myself._

He would be blamed. For everything. It would not matter to Thor that it had been his own damnable weapon’s choice. At the heart of every chaos of the realm no-one saw the storm, but all knew of Loki’s mischief. Drawing his robe about him, Loki turned his back even as Thor’s words drifted across the space between them.

“Are you going to bathe?”

“Yes. So why don’t run along now, and take your deviant hammer with you. Find some other sibling to ravish in her company.”

Thor’s voice dipped low, rendered unreadable. “You are my favourite brother.”

Daring not look back, Loki took the back-handed compliment with chin held high. “I am your _only_ brother.”

Thor strode across the room, eyes bright and burning. He had always been so broad and bold in his beauty. It was but the task of seconds to remember the feel of that cock in him, then the warmth of his ass as Loki’s own hips had driven forward into its welcoming heat. The strength of his kisses had been flavoured in chaos. Loki never might have said no to that.

And Thor stood before him now, eyes steady, voice calm. Always and only Thor.

“I do not blame you.”

Shaken, Loki still raised his chin higher, did not linger upon how easily Thor had divined his fears. “I did not realise there was any need for it.”

One hand rose, fingers curling about the nape of his neck, pressed gentle into the place where dark hair gave way to skin like milk and honey. “Much as she yields to my hold, I still have lessons to learn of her,” Thor said, soft, eyes searching. Then he leaned forward, their foreheads pressed together; his breath ghosted the scent of summer across Loki’s lips. “She always did know what she wanted.”

Loki said nothing in return. Instead he only watched Thor depart, a sun taking its leave of the horizon and plunging the world into night. When he glanced down, it was to see his right hand clenched to a fist. Forcing it open, Loki found it empty save for four perfect arcs of nail.

_Perhaps she is the only one who ever did._


End file.
